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spent the evening pricing Minadan spices while James looked on. Thankfully, Hamel was nowhere to be seen, but James wasn’t naïve enough to think that this respite would last long.
    He left the tavern early and returned to his quarters. It was quiet—no noise from the blacksmith’s family through the walls. He allowed himself to light an oil lamp so he could mend a tear in his spare tunic and had just sat down on his bed when there was a knock on the door.
    It was Thalia.
    After a long moment, James stepped aside. Her face was downcast as she walked in, and she sat against his wall the same way as when she’d visited him the first time. Back then, she had been trying to keep him at a distance. Tonight, the act felt more like an apology. Neither of them said anything, and James returned to his mending.
    After a while, she finally spoke. “Your father. Why did you kill him?”
    That hadn’t been the question he’d expected. Though from the vulnerability in her eyes, he would have thought it was him questioning her rather than the other way around.
    “It’s no big secret,” he said. “My Da didn’t handle his wine well. Took out his frustrations on me and my sister. One day he hit her too hard, and I fought back.”
    The answer didn’t seem to surprise her. “What became of your sister?”
    “She died.”
    Thalia nodded slowly in understanding. “That’s why you wish you’d killed him sooner.”
    James laid the tunic aside. The memory was an old one, numb like a wound calloused over. “I just make sure I don’t make the same mistake again.”
    Thalia hooked a finger under her collar and drew out a thin gold necklace that James had never noticed before. She examined it, brows furrowed, tilting the links to the light. “I’ve promised myself I wouldn’t hesitate. That I’d do anything.”
    “Why do you want to kill Hamel?” he asked.
    She raised her eyes, doubt in her gaze.
    “Alvie says you lost your sister. Was that Hamel’s doing?”
    She was silent again, no longer staring at the chain in her hands but at a spot on the floor beyond it. James waited.
    “Tess was four years my senior,” she finally said. There was a sad note to her voice, but a measure of relief too, as if she were delivering a long suppressed confession. “Our parents died before I learned to walk, so in many ways, she was a mother to me. She taught me to dance. . . .” Thalia trailed off with a wistful smile. “She was beautiful.”
    After a moment, she continued. “We grew up with the caravans, but we were fascinated by life in the cities. Tess especially. When I was old enough to travel with the caravan myself, Tess came to live at Forge. It wasn’t supposed to be a long trip. She just wanted to see what it was like. She danced at the Silver Plough to pay for lodging, and I visited her when the caravan passed by.”
    Thalia drew a shaky breath. “Lord Hamel came often to the Silver Plough. At the time, we didn’t know who he was. We knew he was rich, and we knew he liked Tess. I suppose she should have known better. She never had any interest in him, but she accepted his gifts. He started to get more possessive, demanding her time. In the meantime, Tess had become close with a young man. Hamel found out about them.”
    Thalia suddenly raised her eyes to James, and an edge of bitterness entered her voice. “Funny how a man’s mind will work. If Tess had accepted Hamel’s overtures, he probably would have tired of her in a few months. But because she chose someone over him, Hamel became obsessed. He cajoled her to leave him. Then it became threats. Tess was worried, but still, she did nothing. The caravan was far off, and she didn’t want to leave her lover.”
    Thalia closed her eyes for a moment, her eyes moving beneath her translucent lids. “They found her dead outside The Silver Plough. Her lover’s body washed up in the river a few days later.”
    She was still fidgeting with the necklace, weaving the chain